


Wonderboy

by creativityatbest



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Artist AU, Comicbook Drawer, Coming Out, Highschool AU, M/M, Trans, Transgender, accepting yourself, haircut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:00:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5774014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativityatbest/pseuds/creativityatbest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is a FtM transgender senior with one year left to go. After 2 years of being subject to people’s unknown jabs and transphobic attitude he decides to vent through a comic. Wonderboy. Drawn/Created by D.H. for the school newspaper. Everything is going fine until the day Dan meets Phil, his new art teacher that slowly unravels the truth inside of Dan, and just how important Wonderboy really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

  **  
**It was a sunny July afternoon, the beach was nearly empty, the waves were the perfect swimming height, the Jamaican sun was generous on the British family’s virgin skin. **  
**

The sweet smell of salt wafted from the ocean. Mixing elegantly with the tangy taste of fish that filled the air from a nearby fishing boat.

Waves crashed against each other, seagulls squaked and beside his sunbathing mother, Kydan began to speak.

“Mommy?”

“Yes?”

“What’s the difference between boys and girls?”

Mrs. Howell sat up and readjusted her large circular sunglasses. She was used to the four year old’s random questions but never have they been so… plain.

“Well…” She bite her lip, knowing she couldn’t go straight into what’s under somebody’s britches. This was a child after all. “Boys have short hair and girls have long hair.”

Kydan’s eyes widened and his head cocked. “So if I cut my hair I can be a boy?”

“No… yes.” Mrs. Howell cringed. She had gotten it all wrong.

“Let’s do that right now!” Kydan declared, he grabbed her mother’s purse and rifled through it. Mommy said nail files shorten things, there must be one in here.

“Why would you want to be a boy sweetheart? Boys are gross.”

Kydan shook his head, his light brown curls shaking. “Girls are gross. Dylan says they have cooties.” The toddler stuck out his tongue at the very thought.

Mrs. Howell sighed, of course Dylan, the oldest son nearing his 12th birthday, would say that.

“But you’re a girl. That means you have cooties.”

The child laughed at such a promiscuous thought. He finally located the file in a small case with a mirror and bright tan powder.  

“No silly. I’m a boy.” And with a single movement he grabbed a lock of hair and began to saw it away.

“Kydan James Howell!” His mother snapped and ripped the file from his grasp. She tossed it back in her purse and held the child’s wrist in a tight grip. “Never do that again! You are a girl! You’ll see later on in life!”

With that she let go and watched as her baby’s eyes filled with tears. He scampered off towards where his brother was building a sandcastle. Sobs wracking his small body.

Mrs. Howell sighed and buried her head in her hands. Her daughter would see soon as puberty hit. A girl cannot be a boy. That’s just how the world works


	2. One

Holy shit I’m going to die.

Or pass out at the very least.

The dreaded timer rings through the almost empty gym. My group pauses mid run, collapsing to the floor and leaning on walls.

“This. Is. Hell.” A boy to my right, Jeb, groans, his chest rising and falling so fast I worried for his health.

“Y-y-yeah.” Vanessa, my old friend from middle school, groans and holds her palm to her heart.

For a few seconds we are granted with the gift of laying on the cool gym floor. Forcing breath to fill out lungs. I desperately pull my long kinky brown hair off my forehead. At this moment I just want to cut it all off and jump into the fountain screaming.

“One more guys!” The equivalent of satan, Coach Herese - and yes it is pronounced ‘hearse’ how fitting) calls. He clicks the time on his stupid little pocket watch and I watch in horror as he places the whistles between his lips.

The sound pierces ours ears. I shudder and Van groans so loud Coach snaps at her to get moving.

  
We’re running yet again. Hands colliding with smooth brick walls, sneakers squeak on the waxed gym floor, harsh breaths filled the air and a stitch the size of the Atlantic is forming in my side.

Then the sweet, sweet sound of the whistle returns. I collapse and force myself to breathe. For 40 minutes we’ve been running to one end of the gym and back. A punishment for all seniors who filled the school swimming pool with jello as their senior prank. Which I didn’t even do.

“Fuck!” Harry, some new kid I never bothered to meet, screams and runs out the door.

Coach doesn’t even have time to tell him off before we’re all moving, sluggish and half-dead, to our “respective” locker rooms. I push the heavy metal door open first, groaning as the door swings open.  
  


“Hey Kydan. You look like death.” One of the freshman tells me and I glare a figurative hole through her skull.

The innocent pre-teen slumps forward and walks quickly away from me as I head towards my locker.

“Do you still have work?” Van asks and opens her locker directly next to mine. She starts getting ready to leave - thank god for last hour P.E. - while I think it over.

“I think so. Bruce said he was switching it around with all the laybacks but I’m still there.”

“He has a crush on you. You know.” Van raises her eyebrow and shakes her shoulder a little bit. “You should ask him out.”

“Um no.” I huff out a laugh at the thought of dating our 50 year old boss with a wife and five grandchildren.

“I’m just saying. Sugar daddies are becoming a thing.”

I giggle again and grab my all black outfit. “I’ll take the Nicki Minaj route thank you very much.”

“Suit yourself.” Van shrugs, pulling on her top before gasping in remembrance. “Wait wait I didn’t tell you about the schedule change did I?”

I shake my head and struggle to work my skinny jeans on over sweaty, wet legs.

“Well apparently, next semester if you take any arts, drama, chorus, band, art, anything like that. You get taken out of P.E. to do it.”

My head snaps up. “Who told you this?” Normally those classes either happened after school, during study halls, or during lunch.

Van smiles and shuts her locker. “Katie. She says if you take two classes you get the entire week out.”

“That is the best thing I’ve ever heard!” I follow her out the heavy metal door and into the gym, baby blue tiles clash angrily with the old white-now-yellow bricks and our mascot, the meerkat, has a large portrait hanging beside the basketball hoop.

“I knew you would like it. You’ve been complaining about gym since Freshman year.”

“Can you really blame me though?” We join the group besides the glass doors leading to the student parking lot and I dig through my pockets to locate my keys.

“Hey Kydan?” A gruff voice asks. It makes me sad to think James’s voice went from the squeaky Freshman’s we all made fun of to such a low growl you could swear somebody autotuned it.

  
“Yeah?” I ask and lean against the wall as we watch the clock tick down to the ‘5’.

“How come you don’t have a purse or something? I have never seen you with a purse but you carry so much shit to school?”

I know he wasn’t trying to be mean but the question makes me want to scream. I have to bring a purse now to be a girl? Really? The hair and now this?

“Don’t have a need for it.” I shrug and force myself to smile like it’s nothing.

The ginger nods and pulls his bangs out of his ‘too thin for his muscles to make him look good’ face. “Okay then.”

Beside me Van falls into conversation with a cheery Junior over their French course and my mind drifts off to the back of my head.

For the school newspaper they’ve decided to have a questionare. ‘Ask D.H.’ and basically it’s ask the author/illustrator of Wonderboy. A running comic in the school’s newspaper for two years. Some people say that it’s an amazing read full of superheroes and fights and beautiful art but I don’t know. You never know what’s good until there’s another eye upon it.

One question stood out to me. Well, numerous questions do but this one has stuck with me all day.

‘Why do you hate Beauty Girl so much?’

Something I have always found uncomforting in my Wonderboy comic was the premise of Beauty Girl. I mean, how could I make such a villain when I don’t believe vanity is a problem? I guess the answer is right there. My entire life has been all about beauty, dresses and makeup and all of those things that sit on the ‘girly’ scale of society. I’ve been raised into them, run by them, claimed to be one of their own for how I was born and I take that out in Beauty Girl, I turn her into the things that make me anxious, sad and depressed and Wonderboy fights those feelings, takes them away, makes me feel okay.

The bell ringing rips me from my thoughts and I jump at the loud sound. The speaker in the gym was hit by a basketball during P.E. a few years ago. Absolutely ruining the sound and the school has been to lazy to fix it so now we are stuck with high pitched screams signalling classes.

I walk out the door and towards probably the worst looking car in the lot. A brown car painted over with baby blue that has chipped through and made all the rust visible. Honestly I’m still surprised the piece of shit runs.

“Kydan! Wait up!” Van calls and I slow down my pace, not even noticing I was rushing towards the automobile.

I slow down my pace. “Didn’t I say my nickname is Dan?” I ask while using my key to unlock the car (yes, sadly it is that old)

“Yeah but I like Kydan more. It’s not as… dyke-y you know?“

Somehow I feel my head nodding and settle into my cars upholstery seats.

-~-

It’s late. My clock says 3 am but my mind says 8. Maybe that quick cup of coffee before bed was a mistake.

My writing is blurry, slopped and almost illegible even to me.

I place them in the ask D.H. box and groan, fingers pulling at my bangs.

The newspaper teacher and I have a pact going on. He leaves his office door open while getting a cup of coffee. I get and deposit what I need. Nobody notices a thing.

Most of the questions were quite simple.

‘What’s your name?’

'Are you a boy or a girl?’

'Who are you?’

Were a large majority of the few I scraped into the bin.

I have no idea why I enjoy staying up so late. I guess I find peace in feeling like the only person on the planet. It would be complete bliss if I wasn’t deathly afraid of the dark but, whatever, it’s not like I care that much. Okay maybe I do. Fuck the dark it has possessed little girls and slenderman and shit.

I place all of my notes in their respective shoebox and pull the headphone playing Cardiac Arrest by the Bad Suns out of me ear.

For some reason I cannot sleep without noise, some type of youtube playlist/gaming stuff/podcast playing in my ears to keep my mind from spinning off into space and throwing me into the existential crisis void.

So I pull my laptop up from my bedspread and pop it open to find something.

 

I settle on a small game series of somebody playing a japanese play style game with paper cut outs on wires. Soon the soft words and gentle laughter lull me to sleep.


	3. Two

**  
**Together Van and I walk from her car into the busy classroom that belongs to Mr. Lester - our new art/drama teacher. **  
**

I threw away the last of our Mcdonald’s lunch in the metal bin and hurried up to make it inside the cramped art building about thirty feet from the main.

“Ah Ms. Howell, Ms. Burniqe. Glad you could join us.” A man with strong pale arms, black hair with a strand sticking out of place, with deep laugh lines and a bright smile comments.

Van waves and for a second I freeze in my tracks. Holy shit this dude is hot as hell. Holy shit.

“You guys will be at table red.” He says after a quick glance at the clipboard in his hand.

We search the table names. Skipping blue, yellow, green, purple and finally we find red pushed against the brick wall. Jeb and Katie already seated.

“Hey.” Katie waves and Jeb smiles.

“Yo.” Van plops down at the seat facing Phil and I follow beside her, leaning my head on the wall.

Before us a few Freshman, Sophomores and about ten Juniors (or largest class) are placed among the tables. We seem to be the only Seniors here.

“Alright class!” Mr. Lester claps three times after the bell rings and smiles at his pupils. “My name is Mr. Lester but you can call me Phil. I will be teaching drama and art this semester. And hopefully more to come.” His eyes dim as nobody laugh so I force a distorted chuckle from my mouth to make him smile.

“Anyway yes. My way of teaching may be different from others as this is my first high school group. Yay.”

Van glances at me but my hair has settled upon Phil’s hair. It’s beautifully cut. The exquisite lines, the swopped fringe, the shaded sides. I want it.

“Ky? You okay?” She tries to say but I’m taking my phone from my pocket and getting the camera angled from my lap.

“If you can nickname me Ky you can call me Dan.” I whisper to her and focus the camera on Phil.

“Dan. Are you taking a photo of Mr. Lester.”

“No…” I mutter and Van rolls her eyes.

“I’m not dumb Dan. Why do you need a photo of him?”

“Reasons.”

“Ohh.” Jeb says then smirks, eternally I groan. Why are boys always 50% nice 50% fuckboy? “I get it.”

“Jeb shut the fuck up.” I snap and take a few photos of Phil’s side profile and front.

Van makes a loud whistle sound and my head hits the wooden, paint splattered table.

“Kydan? Are you alright?”

“I like his hair.” I mutter and Jeb hums in agreement.

“It is nice hair I will admit. Except for that sticky part in the fringe. His hair is too thin for it.”

Silence follows after that and I stuff my phone in my pocket. “Now. What the hell is he on about?”

-~-

Three days later I park my car in a dingy looking neighborhood and lock it twice before heading inside.

‘Chip’s Clips’ is a facility I would never, ever trust with my hair but given the circumstances they are all I’ve got.

My mother would never let me cut my hair if we went to 'Great Clips’ together like always. Believe me I tried back when I was in 6th grade and it didn’t go over well.

I take a deep breathe and, with one glance back to my car, I push open the door.

A light jingle runs through the building and two people glance over, a man with frosted tips and a scar on his lip sat in the chair well another man with pristine blue hair and tired eyes ran his hand through the soapy locks.

“Walk in?” He asks and I nervous nod. At the moment my hair is stuffed into a beanie to make it look shorter.

“I’ll be with you in a moment.” His voice is deep. Damn. I was hoping Ally, a kid from my school’s trans MtF mom would be working today.

I sat in on of the plastic chairs and winced as it buckled under beneath my weight.

Well the men continued to chat, my eyes scanned the small space.

Quaint is not a word I would use for a place like this. The walls are a peeling puke shade of yellow. The floors with grungy and almost grey with the fine layer of dirt laid upon it, I could clearly make out my footprints from here to the door. Three chairs are laid out at my side, across two sinks with lobby chairs in front of them. From what I can see the utensils are limited. A pair of Walmart bought scissors on the smooth white desks, a few bottles of hairspray, a couple hairbows and one straightener plugged into the middle outlet. Dangerously close to a large water leakage is currently destroying the wall.

“Alright come here.” The man has appeared at the shitty plastic desk serving as reception.

I pull myself to my feet and walk nervously. This is my first getting my hair cut without my mom. Well, unless you count my 12 year old stage where I kept trying to secretly create a fringe. God, even the thought makes me cringe.

“What do you want?”

“J-just a haircut please.” I internally flinch at the stutter. The man nods, blowing a blue bubble and scribbling down something on a ratty old notebook.

“Got anything in mind?” He asks, the bubble pops and he starts to open a new packet. I read the label well fumbling with my cellphone. Not really wanting to have such an important item in my life.

Nicotine Gum, I’m not going to say I’m surprised, the scent of smoke is so heavy in here I’m surprised my lungs haven’t collapsed.

“Um. These.” I flash the photos of Phil’s hair taken from a stalker-y angle. There’s even a corner of my binder in the photo.

“Doesn’t look too hard.” The man gently points towards my phone and I carefully, very carefully, place it in his outstretched palm. “I can do this easy. Ten minutes top.”

“Really!” I don’t mean to sound so excited but I can’t stop myself.

“No sweat. You act like you’re the only kid looking for a scene cut.”

I gulp.

-~-

The next day I file into Phil’s classroom. Anxiously rubbing at my fresh exposed scalp. Today was a Friday which means I go to Biology instead of Geometry, the only class Van and I share.

I sit at our table and quickly notice that Phil and I are the only people present.

“Good morning Ms. Howell.”

“Please. Call me Dan.” I blush at the words and Phil hums, his eyes meet mine and I swear they somehow brighten.

“Hey! Nice haircut! I am quite mad though.” His face grows clouded and I tense as fear runs through me.

“Why is that?”

“It looks better on you.”

With a giggle all of my tension melts away and I fall into a conversation with Phil about the float plans for homecoming. Apparently he’ll be helping out with our class.

“And yeah. Personally I don’t like the concept, hogwarts houses? How childish is that?”

Phil’s face dropped and he suddenly looked quite sad. “That… Was my idea.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t good. I’m saying it was childish, it’s good to be a kid sometimes.” The words sound so phony and fake in my ears, I’m genuinely surprised when Phil’s head springs up and he grins.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Normalness leads to sadness.”

“What? Is that a quote of yours?”

“Yes actually! I just thought it one day.”

“Well then, copyright that bitch because it’s good.”

“Oh trust me Dan. Nobody would buy it if I did.”

“I would. Reckon I’d get it tattooed on my back and the copyright phrase right on my arse cheek.”

Phil laughs. I like his laugh. “Dan! That is a horrid idea! Can you imagine what your partner would say! Uh babe, why is your teacher’s name tattooed on your arse?”

“Police sirens.” I add and Phil’s head falls on the desk he’s laughing so hard. I try to ignore that when he said babe shiver went through my spine.

I clutch my stomach and double over. I’ve never laughed so hard with someone in my life. My hand slips forward and knocks my open binder to the floor. Papers fly everywhere and I curse loudly.

“Dan!” Phil gasps and my eyes shoot up to him.

“Okay okay I’m sorry. I’ll never curse to you again.”

“Good. And what if one of the little kids heard you?”

“The freshman are too busy calling their friends the f word and t word to fit in.” I grovel and start to collect the papers. History, Science, fuck all my folders are scattered.

“True.” Phil appears at my side and scraps up a few of the papers. His hands close around a pink folder and I feel my throat tighten. He reads the front and goes shock still. 'Wonderboy,’ fuck I knew I should have been more careful.

We are both stuck in silence for a few seconds. Me because Phil just found my main writing outlet, my transgender coming out story with an ending so well plotted its been hinted at since the beginning. And Phil, because he just figured out a mystery the entire school would kill to know the answer to. Who is D.H.?

I can see his fingers now, wrapped tightly around a pen, large letters across a blank page.

Kydan James Howell

It’s over, everything. My large conclusion, my elegant sympathy rise to end the story. The reveal, the unmasking of who wonderboy is. All gone with a single push, one accident and everything I spent four years creating is gone.

Phil’s eyes glance up, blue frantically searching brown but I give off no emotion. Don’t cry Dan. Don’t. Fucking. Cry.

“Wh-?” He begins to ask but I’ve run out the door.


	4. Three

It’s Van who finds me three hours later in the auditorium, laying on one of the sets of red velvet chairs, tears run down my face, the echoing of soft sobs filling the air. **  
**

“Oh Kydan.” She whispers before correcting herself. Voice somehow softer. “Dan.”

“Hey.” I answer and she sits, lifting my legs so they lay across his lap.

“Bear? What happened?” She uses the nickname everyone in elementary school used when that’s what I wanted to be called. It makes me laugh. Oh how fast times change.

“I must look like complete shit right now.” I turn to stare at the ceiling and Van grabs my hand softly in hers.

“No. You look beautiful I promise. Mr. Lester sent me to find you, something about you running off. What happened?”

“I’m so tired of it all Van.” My heart swells, my stomach drops, my hand tightens around hers, this is it. “I’m tired of hiding myself and who I am and I’m tired of this stupid fucking comic and I’m tired of being afraid to show people what I am and I’m just so fucking exhausted.”

“Hey. Hey slow down a bit. What comic?”

“I’m D.H. Dan Howell. I am Wonderboy.” I whisper, my voice hoarse and the tears building.

“Okay. I love your art style and your storyline.”

I giggle numbly. “You won’t tomorrow.”

“I’ll ignore that for now. Bear, what are you hiding?”

“My name isn’t Kydan.” I squeeze my eyes shut and force the breath to leave my mouth. You can do this Dan. You can.

“When I was 13 years old I was going through a horrible existential crisis. Nothing in my life was going right. I had no motivation. I was so tired all the time and nothing seemed… worth anything. Like there was nothing to a human. We are all just Barbie dolls off the shelf, perfect boys and girls with false smiles and perfectly sculpted bodies. I was mad at myself because I didn’t feel okay. I felt different and awkward in my body. I figured it was the hormones you know? But year after year the feelings stayed and it hit me. This is not a plastic life I’m living, I’m not like everyone else, I’m not… I’m not a little girl.”

The silence that follows is deadly, each passing makes me shrink further and further into myself.

“Okay.” Is all Van says and a large sigh of relief escapes me.

Van cracks a small smile. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner you knob?”

“I was so scared you would hate me.” I giggle and tears start to run down my face.

“Aw Bear!”

Van pulls me into a quick hug and squeezes my shoulders.

I hug her back and bury my face in her shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You have nothing to be afraid of. I’ll love you no matter what. Oh and Phil wants to see you after school.”

I groan loudly into his shoulder and Van giggles loudly.

“I know. But you’ll feel better after the air is cleared.”

Bullshit, I think but smile anyway.

-~-

Thirty minutes later I skipped down the hallway, humming to myself. Immensely happy, that is, until an arm shoots out from behind a door and grabs my shoulder.

“Oh. Hi Phil.” I turn to him and he smiles. Then it hits me why exactly he’s stopped me and I wriggle from his, admittedly quite strong, grip.

“Dan? Can you come with me for a second?” He asks softly. Okay, that is definitely not what you ask a fucking student 5 years younger than you.

“Why?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh, no thank you.”

“Dan seriously.”

I grab Phil’s wrist and push his hand off of me. “Phil seriously. Wonderboy is a sensitive subject.”

With that I hurry down the hallway towards the bright glass doors leading to freedom. I can hear a loud sigh from behind me and then a quiet. “I know who Beauty Girl is.”

Everything stops. For a second I reach a state of pure numbness. My books hit the floor, my body wobbles. I can’t help it. Four years later and somebody actually fucking got it. I should be ecstatic, right?

No, that can’t be right. He’s just trying to draw me in, seeing what gets a rise before calling up our school therapist, spewing some bullshit to keep authority.

“You know nothing.” I spin around and pick up my books before stalking back over.

“What?” He’s genuinely confused, I almost laugh at the look on his face.

“You don’t know shit. Why would you? How would you?” My index finger is connecting with his chest, shoving him back into the room that smells of wet paint and chalk.

Phil’s expression gets more and more horrified as we move past the tables, towards the chalkboard.

  
“What the hell is wrong with you! I was having a good day! Good things happened and you come along and you ruin it! I just want to survive this year and then I’m free. I can leave this shit stain of a town. Do you know what that means!? I can be anything! I will never have to see these people ever again. You have no idea who Beauty Girl is because she’s not some fucking bimbo!”

“D-Dan I know. Calm down. Please.”

“Why do you want me to calm down! I’m angry! I’m never angry. You know nothing about my comic, my world, it’s complete and utter shit! It sucks! Everything sucks! I hate it! But I can’t just-”

Phil lurches forward and I suppress a gasp. His fingers close around my wrist and spin us around so my back is pressed to the chalkboard.

“Dan! You need to calm down! You’ll pass out if you keep breathing like that.”

I freeze and try to wiggle away. Phil’s eyes are scarily dark, his mouth is a thin line and he looks like he wants to punch me in the face.   
  
“I’m sorry.” I try and say but he just rolls his eyes.

“I know.”

We stay stuck like that for a few seconds. Phil still a pissed off mess and me wondering what exactly would happen if I kneed him in the crotch right now.

“Can you let me go p-”

“Dan. I understand who beauty girl is, I have ever since I saw the comic. Beauty girl isn’t some chick in class or a bitch in stay away camp. It’s you.”

The tears are forming and I keep shaking my head. I have a headache, my wrist hurt and my heart feels like it’s being torn apart. “P-p-please don’t tell-l anyone.”

“I won’t Dan. I like your haircut by the way.”

“You already told m-me that-t.” The tears are getting worse and I keep sniffing. I can’t help it, nobody has ever seen so quickly. Nobody has ever understood without question.

“It suits you.” Phil releases my wrist and I cover my face, trying to compose myself. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe here.”

I nod frantically and collapse against Phil’s shoulder. He makes an oddly squeaky ‘oof’ sound and wraps his arms around my waist, rocking back and forth.

“It’s alright Dan. You’re alright.” I can feel his fingers running through my hair and cry a little bit harder.

And from that day forth when the world got too much, or my head was louder than my heart, I called up Phil and he would talk to me until the sun came down. Sometimes about his travels all over the world, and sometimes about his little nephews. Since he was living with his sister and her wife he had some of the best stories in the world. He told them so well, with a happy spunk and gleeful manor.

It was nice, to be friends with Phil, we liked almost all the same things and with an age difference of almost 5 years (and the fact the legal age of consent in Georgia is 16 years old) made everything nice and not-so-perfectly legal.

But that’s okay because Phil makes me happy and we are nothing romantic. Are we?


	5. Three

Phil got an apartment about three months later and I claimed I was going out to a party with Van to help him unpack everything.

The building was quite charming, an old brick one that smelled like mothballs and old people among entering. Phil lived on the top floor next to a kind old woman named Martha who handed us some brownies when we finished up with the boxes.

“You’re a lovely couple.” She claims with a smile, her teeth are yellow and crooked.

“Oh uh.” Phil turns red and his grip on the small christmas decorated plate tighten.

“Thanks.” She’s senile and if she keeps Phil here any longer he may burst into flames. Phil’s gaze shoots to mine and I motion towards his apartment door. “Thank you for the brownies but we really need to unpack. I brought frozens.”

Martha nods and heads down the hall to the stairway.

The moment she’s turned the corner Phil’s whispering frantically to me. “What was that!”

“I didn’t need to explain to a nice old woman that we weren’t together because she would have been all ‘oh why not deary?’ and ‘oh you are transgender! Excuse me while I shout slurs at you and make your friends life hell.’”

Phil scoffs and shuts his apartment door behind us. “It wouldn’t have been that bad.”

  
“Phil. Trust me. Besides, we never would have gotten brownies again.” I take one off the plate for emphasis and take a bite.

“Holy fuck.” Chocolate chips were baked into the crisp crust and the inside melted in my mouth almost instantly. I moaned in delight and ate half in a single bite.

The moment my brownie has disappeared I make grabby hands for the next one, finding Phil blushing dark red and his eyes wide.

“What? Did I get something on my face?”

Phil shakes his head and sits down on the floor. He crosses his legs and sets the plate before him.

“Well what’s wrong then? Don’t board up on me.” I sit across from him and move to pluck another.

“Did I ever tell you about my sibling? Jack?”

“Can’t say you have.” I take a large bite and groan as the taste fills my mouth.

“Well. It’s not a happy story.” He shrugs

“Not everyone has a happy story to tell.”

Phil sighs and runs a hand shakily through his hair. “True. And Jack’s is probably the saddest story I’ve got. They were so nice, always helping, they used to come home from school with no pencils because they gave them to all the other kids.” He chuckles softly at the memory and his eyes grow fuzzy with tears. “Anyway, they came out over the summer on facebook. Changed pronouns and that was it. Or so we thought. You see, our parents never h-had their own facebook so my mother heard while she was at work with some ladies whose kids were friends with us. She told dad and bam,  our lives were never the same.”

“They were so fucking mean to them Dan. They never did anything wrong and they still beat the fuck out of them. Called him a faggot, he/she, all these horrible things and I was at Uni with our sister so I had to sit back and fucking watch as they treated their own son that way. It was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.

“Anyway. One day they took it too far. Threw a pack of… you know on his bed. He was gone by Monday.”

The tears are really flowing now and Phil hunches over, his face in his hands. “A-and I never want to see anyone go down that road ever again. I never want to see somebody hurt like they did. I couldn’t let you go around keeping Wonderboy to yourself because Wonderboy is beautiful and eccentric and special and everything any transgender person could ever want. It tells a story, Beauty Girl is you and you trying to break free from the girl mold you’ve spent your entire life in. I understand Dan. That’s all I ever wanted for people like you. I wanted them to understand they are never alone, not while I’m alive.”

I knew I was crying, I knew I was hiccuping and I probably had snot leaking from my nose and brownie in my teeth and a 20 pound weight in my chest but I lurched myself forward. Hands colliding with Phil’s collar and pulling his lips to mine, they molded easier and Phil let out a squeak of surprise.

At first it isn’t all that romantic. I feel my other hand has smashed into the brownie plate, our noses are awkward smushed between us, nothing is moving, we’re just kind of connected but not doing anything about it.

Then Phil starts to giggle.

“What? What have I done now?” I press my hand to my forehead, to late remembering the brownie plate.

“You are so fucking cute Dan.” Phil continues to giggle and my grip lessens on his collar.

“Fuck off.” I roll my eyes but feel a smile pulling at my lips.

“So… “ Phil looks at the broken plate and grins. “Do you want to try again?”

“Fine.” I try to sound exasperated but by the way I’m already pulling Phil back says something different.

-~-

“Are you ready?” Phil asks, his words small yet so, so important.

“Will I ever be?” My heart is pumping, my hands are sweating, I’m the most scared I’ve ever been.

But that’s life I suppose.

Everyone has a fear and this, this is mine.

Oh, but what’s the point of fear when you’re life has been so much worse?

We stand behind the stage, outside of that thick maroon curtain the student body sits, waiting eagerly for me, the valedictorian, to make his appearance.

But what they don’t know is that the paper clutched in my hands holds my biggest secret. A boy stands proud, his black and gold suit worn with pride and the signature black mask tight around his head. Until today. Wonderboy unmasked.

I’m so fucking scared.

Phil stands next to me, hand hovering over my back. He can’t touch me inside the school but I wish he would kiss me or give me a hug or something other than stand there.

“I love you Phil.” I whisper, I know in the back of my head it’s only been a month but I can’t stop myself.

“I love you too Dan. You’re going to do great. I promise.” His hand finds the middle of my back and slowly leads me towards the curtain.

And so I tell them, I tell them everything, it’s an entire long, possibly boring speech but I make it because I have too, because if I didn’t make who would? I make it for the kids around the world like me, I make it for the people who have spent their whole lives wondering why it is they feel so different. I make it for the kids who don’t understand the kids that understand too late. I make it for me and for Phil and for Jack and for that one kid’s trans mom because they deserve it. They deserve a patent, something to let them know it’s okay, that the world is big and scary and full of horrible people and there are a million things to be afraid of but this. This is not one of them. And it never will be as long as I’m breathing.

“I know deep down, we are all superheroes. Anyone with the courage to fight for the people and only the people is a superhero. A Wonderboy, a Wonderperson. And this class I’ve grown up with, they mean something to me. When I look at these seats, at this crowd, to the heavens. I see superheros, I see ordinary people with the heart and the power to do something extraordinary. And some people may not agree with me when I say that who I am is not a joke or a party trick. Some may say I’m sick, I’m a monster, but I can tell you one thing. If this is what a monster feels like. I’ll never be human again.”

_~ Fin ~_


End file.
